The night of the eclipse came like a silent predator, creeping upon the village with an unnatural stillness.
The air grew heavy, thick with something unseen, something ancient. The villagers, who had spent generations in this land, felt the shift before they saw it.
The elders whispered of omens, of restless spirits, and of the cursed moon that would bring ruin. But no one could have predicted the horror that was about to unfold.
As the sun set, the sky was consumed by a deep, bruised purple, an eerie prelude to the coming darkness.
The stars, usually bright and guiding, dimmed one by one, swallowed by an invisible force.
A cold wind howled through the village, rattling doors and windows, carrying with it the scent of decay.
The animals sensed it first, dogs whined and cowered, oxen bucked against their stalls, and chickens refused to leave their coops.
